


The Full Measure of Devotion

by ClearingSky



Category: Victoria (TV), victoria - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Vicbourne, William Lamb - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 10:16:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClearingSky/pseuds/ClearingSky
Summary: In the wake of Victoria’s proposal, Lord M’s feelings for her have unwittingly intensified and it comes to a painful head at Brocket Hall.  As the frustrating agony mounts, he must rely on his deeper motive for rejecting her to give him strength to do it again.





	The Full Measure of Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I know in the series the inference is made that the first time Victoria visits Lord M’s greenhouse is -after- she is married to Albert. However, an argument -could- be made, otherwise. 😉 
> 
> [Indebted and enormous Thank You to J, for reading and critiquing, but, most of all, for your friendship]

_“Yesterday, I realized something.”_

_“Yes, ma’am?”_

_“I think, perhaps, now, I’m speaking as a woman, not as a queen.”_

_He looked at her quizzically, yet patiently gave her time to continue._

_“At the beginning, I thought that you were the father I never had.  Now, I feel - I know - that you are the only companion I could ever desire.”_

_…_

_“I believe when you give your heart, it will be without hesitation.  But you cannot give it to me.”_

_“I think you have it, already.”_

_“No, you must keep it intact for someone else.  I have no use for it, you see.  Like a rook, I mate for life.”*_

_..._

_“I wasn’t sure if I would dance with you, tonight.”_

_*_*_*_*_*_

_“It would be unkind for Elizabeth to refuse her Leicester.”_

_“Leicester was her Companion.”_

_“He was.  He did have a wife.  But then she died.”_

_“But even though he was free, he never married.”_

_“I think both he and the Queen understood that they were not in a position to marry.  Whate’er their inclination.”*_

_*written by Daisy Goodwin_

* * *

 

 

Sir William Lamb, the second Viscount Melbourne, stood hunched at his study window and stared longingly with tired eyes at the greenhouses below until the ambient sunlight had noticeably shifted in the room.  His thoughts were as unkempt and disheveled as his person, tumbling over each other in the most haphazard fashion; from the myriad political and legislative wrangling going on in Parliament, his son, his own thoughts of eventual retirement, the orchids he’d ordered, the various whispers of intrigue from Baron Portman concerning the continual goings-on within the Colonies…the Queen…

 

_“You must go out and you must smile.  Smile and wave.  And never let them know how hard it is to bear.”_

 

He sighed dolefully and wrapped his robe tighter against the chill that permeated Brocket Hall.  Stiffly moving from the window, he made to clear his throat and was launched, unceremoniously, half-choking, into a coughing spasm, his whole body seemingly involved in the effort.  _Not again_ …  For several moments, his body stiffened as his lungs contracted to expel the fluid it’d been drowning in over the past week.  Stumbling to his desk, Melbourne retrieved his handkerchief to wipe the spittle from his lips.  He swallowed hard and hacked the last of the phlegm he could feel was lodged in his throat.  Feeling his lungs were satisfied, Melbourne leaned against the desk and took in several, shaky, test breaths before progressing to slow and deep breaths.  His shoulders sagged and his eyes rolled in relief that this latest bout seemed to be over.  Melbourne closed his eyes, shook his head slightly, and dabbed the sweat from his forehead with his handkerchief.  He could feel the heat on his face.  Weary of being bedridden and surrounded by the ever-present odor of liniment oil, the coughing fits and shuffling about in his draughty study, the Viscount made a decision.  

The layers of fragrance enveloped him upon his entrance into the greenhouse and the soothing warmth within did chase the cold from his bones.  He made a beeline for the purple violets he’d been nurturing.  He cut one blossom that had particularly caught his eye that he felt could grace his desk and brighten his study.  But the walk to the greenhouses had proved to be more taxing than he’d anticipated.  Gingerly, he moved to a chair to rest, the purple violet in his palm.

 

_“No.  You must keep it intact for someone else.”_

 

He’d barely settled into his respite when he suddenly leaned forward.  He braced himself as his lungs spasmed yet again and sent him into several coughing fits.  After some moments, he gingerly breathed in, his hand moving to his chest, testing the efficacy of simply breathing.  Slowly, a ragged breath breathed out, then another, and into a slow, smooth round of in and out.  Some tightness in his chest remained, but his lungs seemed content, for now.

Melbourne slowly slouched back in the lounging chair as if defeated, arms dangling limply over the armrests.  He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drown in the peacefulness of his beloved flora and the simplicity of unencumbered breathing.  Finally, feeling a small vestige of energy, he hiked an elbow up onto an armrest, leaned and settled his hand over his face.  His eyes bore a hole in the tiled walkway while his fingers absently rubbed his hairline, dark thoughts clouding his features.

 

…

 

_Hooves and wheels pounded and rattled on uneven roads as the carriage clopped its way north from London through the countryside of Hertfordshire.  Its cargo bounced along the dirt road and to the sway of the horses, jostling its contents in a variable, jerking rhythm along the pockmarked highway, causing them to shift and move._

 

…

 

Hard-heeled footsteps clumped as they approached, then came to an abrupt and nearby stop.  “Please forgive the intrusion, Milord,” a voice intoned apologetically.  “But…Her Majesty the Queen is here to see you.”

Fingers still straddling his hairline, Melbourne inwardly started at the quiet voice and he quickly realized he’d all but dozed off.  Still sleepy and sapped of energy, he trained a single opened eye at his manservant, the movement causing a gentle dizziness in his head.  Both eyes opened as William straightened up and lowered his now-numb arm, and he absently flexed his hand.  Melbourne’s expression was dazed as if suddenly awakening and his chest felt heavy.  The news brought by his manservant finally registered in his consciousness.  Melbourne’s eyebrows spiked with initial surprise and then furrowed in an equal measure of confusion and frustration.  That sparked a bitter sigh, which, in turn, fomented several exhaled, wheezing coughs.  A series of deep coughs followed, some preceded by an almost stridor-like exhalation that left him too breathless to cough.  Suddenly, he pitched forward and erupted into a coughing attack that wracked his whole body followed by strangulated wheezing as he fought to breathe.

His manservant instantly darted forward and laid a hand on Melbourne’s back to assist his forward lean.  The hacking came from deep in his lungs, spewing phlegm and sputum, erupting forcefully as if exorcising some wretched creature; his whole-body stiffening to keep itself intact.  Finally, his lungs seemed emptied of fluid, but Melbourne remained hunched over, guarding against the occasional cough that still tickled his throat.  His reddened face was buried in one hand and he could feel the sweat on his forehead, trickling down his chest, inside his shirt.  His face felt hot.  He grimaced at the headache that quickly erupted, clutching his head in a vise, and the burning pain of his stomach and chest.  He groaned almost like a child from the agony and ensuing nausea as tears watered his eyes.  Such forceful coughing over the last few days had wrought havoc on his abdomen, neck and back and the aftermath was as severe as the coughing, itself.  _Dammit!  No… I do not wish her to see me like this._   Despite his inimitable pleasure at being in the Queen’s presence, this particular visit was not only unexpected but, dare he say it, severely ill-timed. 

“Shall I tell Her Majesty that you are unwell?”

“No,” Melbourne ordered, his voice strained with pain.  His face was buried in one hand, his other hand outstretched, hanging aimless in the air, to stay his manservant.  His breathing was ragged as he tried to breathe through the pain.  Admittedly, during the punishing bout just moments before, he had, in fact, sought – and failed – to conjure some credible yet non-treasonous reason for rejecting a visit from his sovereign.  But even in his current state, he found, he could not refuse her. 

Hunter took his lord’s hand and helped him carefully lean back in the chair.

Spent, Melbourne lay his head back against the chair, his shoulders sagged and he sighed heavily, trying to breathe.  “No,” he reiterated, clearing what was left of his throat to regain control of his voice.  “It is a long journey for her.  Show her in.” 

 “Very well, Milord,” Hunter slowly answered, as if hoping for Melbourne to change his mind.  When no change of order was immediately forthcoming, Hunter withdrew.

William breathed out and lay his face in his hand, again.  The bite of the searing pain had ebbed, but he felt drained and he wasn’t certain he even had the energy to stand for his Queen.

 

His queen…

 

_“Leicester was her Companion.”_

 

Melbourne slowly rubbed his forehead and sighed against the trepidation that meshed with the sticky, humid air of the greenhouse.  Though his heart usually brightened at the very thought of her, his heart, now, was, instead, sinking like a stone into raw emotions that were surfacing, coming ashore on the high tide; emotions he currently had little defense against.  Melbourne moved his head and his fingers curled against his lips, in thought.  His own Everlasting Companion – a constant, weighted stone of Dread and Anxiety – snuggled uncomfortably in his chest.

 

 Since that day when she— Melbourne sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, again.  When she’d offered her heart to him…  Perhaps it was the bittersweet allure of ‘forbidden fruit’ or the advancement of age that had so maddeningly heightened his feelings...  Despite his own personal desires, he’d performed his Duty, some would say admirably, and achingly rebuffed her most genuine and heartfelt proposal.  But he quickly discovered that his empathy for her heart ache would not wane and as a consequence, over time, he’d found his resolve…degenerating.  With every meeting, every interaction, every mention of her name his firmness to Duty crumbled ever so slightly and he was finding it more and more difficult to maintain an emotional distance from her.  His Everlasting Companion was feeding off his torment and had expanded and grown denser and more substantial and he knew, beyond all doubt, it would be with him, forever.  He was chained to her and so thus was fated to endure its steel clasp upon his heart where she was concerned.  

 

No matter.  Like those serial stories posted in the daily papers, her visit today would be just another link in the overlong chain of encounters between them.  If anything, he was even more resolute in Absolute Adherence to his Duty and, God willing, he would uphold it in the face of the full military might of all of England.  Or the scorn of a Queen’s broken heart…  For her sake, he had no choice.

 

Melbourne closed his eyes for a moment, willing his steel determination to close around him.  He’d managed, till now, to abide by the rules of Parliamentary edicts that ruled every nuance of their lives; one more encounter with her surely could not break him.  Could not.  _Must not_ …  Emboldened, he opened his eyes and mentally prepared himself for the Force of her Will.

 

  _Or is it the weakening of my own…?_

 

The door clicked open, a momentary exchange of voices, then the door clicked shut.  Determined footsteps beyond the foliage made their way toward him.  He wondered what had caused her to make the trek to Brocket Hall.  Wearily, he raised his head to turn to properly greet her. 

Victoria emerged into the clearing and his heart swelled clear down to his feet.  She was dressed in a blue dress underneath her riding cloak and matching bonnet.  As always, she seemed so dignified and controlled.  She was diminutive, certainly, but she never apologized for it; she wore her authority well.  She came straight to him, taming her riding veil with both white-gloved hands. 

Melbourne struggled but finally mustered the strength to stand for his Queen.  His stance was somewhat hunched and skewed to one side while his hands were balled together before him and his elbows hugged his ribs as if he were warding off the cold. 

“Lord M,” Victoria greeted, sounding almost relieved as she traditionally offered her hand.  As Melbourne took and kissed her hand, Victoria’s expression faded from congenial to one of deep concern.  “My Lord M, are you not well?”

Melbourne smiled softly at her.  “Nothing to concern yourself with, ma’am.  Just a touch of a cold, I fear.”

She cocked her head ever so slightly.  “Why’re you standing like that?”

“I’m not…feeling entirely myself,” he answered, and indicated the chair next to his, should she wish to make herself comfortable. 

Victoria sat, her posture not completely relaxed.  “I do apologize, Lord M, I did not realize you were ill.”

Melbourne delicately seated himself, trying to negotiate the various muscle groups that screamed in protest at his every move.  “You had no way of knowing, ma’am.  As I said, it is nothing you need concern yourself with.  Might I ask to what Brocket Hall owes the honor of your visit?”

She looked at him, her brows furrowing at the continuing deep worry for him.  “I was concerned, Lord M.  I have not received any letters from you for some time.  Now I see why you have not continued your correspondence.”

 _Of course.  I should have guessed._   “I apologize, ma’am.  It was not intentional, I assure you.”

“I understand.”  She paused for a moment, relaxed and then pouted.  “I wish you would tell me when you are ill.”

He would have laughed had it not been so painful to do so.  “To what end, ma’am?  It is to no one’s advantage to burden you with matters not in your purview and with which you can do nothing about.”  He began to cough again and, for a moment, worried another uncontrollable coughing spasm was about to plague him.  Fortunately, he was spared.  This time.  He should have instructed his staff to bring a pitcher of water. 

“Not in my purview?  You are very much in my purview, Lord M.  And I hardly consider you a burden.  Can I not be concerned about the well-being of my dearest friend?”

“Of course, ma’am.”  He cleared his throat. 

She frowned.  “Has the doctor been to see you?”

“He has.  This very morning, as a matter of fact.”  He stretched out his arm and rubbed his forearm.  “I’ve been leeched, as it were,” he playfully smirked. 

“Bloodletting?  For a cold?”

“My physician believes I have come down with a nasty case of pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia?” she nearly shouted in alarm as she sat up straighter.

“Do not be distressed, ma’am.  ‘Tis a mild case and I am nearly over it.”

Victoria’s eyes narrowed slightly as she scrutinized him.  “Forgive me, Lord M, but you do appear a little flushed and pale.”

Melbourne’s eyebrows spiked over darkened eyes.  “Considering how I feel, I do not doubt it.”

Victoria shifted slightly in her chair.  Her mouth opened to say something, but instead her brows knitted together slightly and her eyes remained fixed on the floor. 

William followed her gaze and blinked at the purple violet lying on the ground.  He inwardly started with something akin to a panic.  “Oh…” he said, in surprise, having entirely forgotten about it.  _Of all the colors of all the flowers of all the plants of all the days of all the times she called upon me_ …  Carefully, he moved to gather it up, and nearly collided with Victoria as she, too, had moved to do the same. 

“Forgive me, ma’am—”

“No, the fault is mine, Lord M.  I should not have gotten in your way.”

“You are hardly in my way, ma’am.”  Melbourne slid the stem between his fingers and cupped the delicate flower in his palm. 

Victoria’s face brightened around her faintly quizzical expression.  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, yet through her smile, she tried to hide her awkwardness and uncertainty as she looked at Melbourne.

“Yes, I—” Despite the subtle confusion Her Majesty attempted to conceal, it belied the distinctive yet subtle, plaintive tone in her voice.  William’s heart sank, elevating his anxiety in equal measure.  He glanced wistfully at the purple violet in his hand, finding himself the helpless fly caught in the vise of his beloved Venus Flytrap.

 

_“He did have a wife.  But then she died.”_

_“But even though he was free, he never married.”_

 

Eyebrows climbing momentarily, William gave in to the need to sigh as he straightened in his chair, sliding his hand along his thigh to his knee.  _An Uncle Leopold lecture on the symbolism and nuanced meaning of the purple violet and the abject inappropriateness of my offering it to the Queen is sure to ensue should I offer this to her; the irony being that I would have initially intended no such thing, despite..._ He sighed to himself _.  How to bow out, gracefully..._

Melbourne cleared his throat.  “I…would, of course, offer this to Her Majesty, but I fear, this particular species does not hold up well outside of this protected environment, especially with it being so cold outside, of late.  I…would hate for it to die upon you so soon on your return to the palace.”  Melbourne prayed silently that a potentially damaging and ruinous scandal involving the Queen had just been averted.

          Victoria was about to say something…until she frowned a little, her eyes angling slightly up, and she squinted. 

Melbourne frowned in puzzlement as he watched her watching him.  A smile tugged at his lips at her bemused expression and he cocked his head at her.  He turned to see what she was looking at and saw nothing.  Melbourne turned back to her to see that her smile had reached her eyes.  It suddenly dawned on him that she was looking directly over him and his eyebrows climbed, tugging his eyes upward to his hairline. 

A smile slowly spread on Victoria’s lips.  Melbourne’s puzzlement and amusement deepened.  Then Victoria stifled a giggle, her eyes dancing as they remained on him. 

Melbourne inclined his head toward her.  “May I ask what has Her Majesty so amused?”

          The corner of Victoria’s lips twitched.  “Forgive me, Lord M, but…there is a tiny creature caught in your hair and desperately trying to free itself.”

          Melbourne threw her a look laced with skepticism, but waved a hand over his head, then looked to her for confirmation.

          Victoria’s eyes twinkled as she shook her head.

          Rolling his eyes, Melbourne waved his hand over his head again, and, again, Victoria shook her head.  “Perhaps if you combed your hand through your hair very gently, it would aid its efforts.  Right there…” she indicated above his right ear.  

Melbourne did as she suggested and looked at her again for confirmation.

Victoria gave a firm nod and a satisfied smile.  “There.  I think you are finally free of it.”

Melbourne ducked and looked around for it and did notice a small dark insect flying away.  He combed his hand through his hair and shrugged.  “What can I say?  Clearly, it found me irresistible,” he looked roguishly at her.

“For the life of me, I cannot fathom why,” she teased, throwing him a coy smile.

“Hmph.  I know its friends, you know.  I’m sure they will find the palace as equally palatable as they do my greenhouse.”

 “You wouldn’t dare,” her eyes flashed as she laughed.  
 “Wouldn’t I?” he challenged with a sly grin.

She looked at him in mock-seriousness and her lips pressed with authority underneath the sparkle in her eye.  “Please, Lord M.  I cannot allow scandals to abound involving members of my government cavorting with insects.”

He aimed an impish smile at her and she answered with a flirtatious smile of her own.…

…eyes locked…

Her delightful, bright, brown eyes, her delicate, dignified features…

…which filled his vision…

        …till the world…

    …faded…

…leaving them –

_No.  No!  You cannot do this. **Devotion to** **Duty, remember?  William, you cannot…Stop**... _

With enormous effort, Melbourne heaved in a breath and dropped his eyes leaving an awkward silence.  What had been building between them achingly drained away.  His body shifted, his eyes desperately roamed about, seeking distraction, finding none.  After some moments, he cleared his throat in preparation to say something.  Anything…

…

 

 _Rough-hewn and battle-worn, the wood-and-glass rectangular box was, at, last to be inspected.  After its long, rough journey of several thousand miles, through turbulent seas and pitted roads, its contents had been tossed about, unrelentingly; even the most recent leg of its journey was replete with snags and, indeed, one of the worst jolts it’d endured.  Now, at last, it had a chance to rest, yet its place on_ terra firma _gave it no guarantee of smooth travels ahead._

_The glass of the box was opaque; humidity accruing within, obscuring the true contents, its secrets known only to itself…_

…

 

A slight knock on the greenhouse was followed by the familiar click of the door, then footsteps.  “Forgive the intrusion, Milord, Your Majesty.  A cargo box has arrived for you, sir,” Hunter informed them.

“Ah,” Melbourne exclaimed.  “Yes.  Of course.  Remove my tools and place it here,” he ordered, indicating a small, nearby table.  Catching Melbourne’s eye, Hunter glanced at Queen Victoria, then back to Melbourne.  Gathering his manservant’s meaning, Melbourne responded with a quick shake of his head and Hunter quickly lowered his eyes and bowed in a gesture of acknowledgement, then turned on his heel and walked out.

It was several moments of noisy commotion as Hunter guided the workmen who carried in the large wooden and glass box and things were moved aside to make way for its bulk. 

Lord M stole occasional glances at his queen, gauging and enjoying her reactions at all the bustle surrounding the arrival of the sizeable contraption.  As quickly as it had arrived, the whirlwind of activity was ushered out by Hunter.  Lord M and Victoria, once again, found themselves alone in the greenhouse.

Wide-eyed, Victoria looked to Melbourne, almost shyly.  “May I?”

Stifling a grin, Melbourne held out his arm, gesturing for her to get closer.  “Of course,” he replied, warmly. 

Victoria stepped over for a closer look at this rather large container.  “What is this…unusual contraption?”

Melbourne’s eyes twinkled at her wonder.  “This, ma’am, is a Wardian case.”

“A what?” she spun toward him. 

“A Wardian case, ma’am.  They are used to transport flowers from exotic locales around the world back to England.  Orchids, especially.  They are such delicate flowers they don’t always survive the arduous journey home.”

“Is that what is in here?  Orchids?”

Lord M laid the Queen with an impish grin, “Would you like to do the honors, ma’am?”

“How ingenious.  It protects the plants during shipment, is that it?”

“That, but mainly it maintains the plants within their natural environment, if you will, while they spend weeks or even months at sea.  Without the case, they would die.” 

Victoria looked around.  “Like a miniature greenhouse to keep them warm.”

His eyes twinkled at her.  “Precisely.” 

She looked brightly at him.  “Then…if you’ll permit me, Lord M, I would very much love to see the newest addition to your collection.”

“I have no objection, ma’am,” he smiled brightly at her.  With some difficulty, Melbourne rose from the chair and undid the lock and tie on the door of the case.  “To tell you the truth, I am not entirely sure what sort of flowers these may be.  I have a couple of orders out, as it were,” he opened the case and an odor of something like scented loam wafted from inside, the contents somewhat tumbled together.  It took him some moments to untangle several specimens.  “Ah!  Rather splendid, indeed.”  He carefully brought out a specimen of a green-leafed stem underneath a crown of five, elongated soft green petals supporting a delicate, white flower. 

Victoria gasped, her eyes wide with wonder.  “Oh, how _beautiful_.  What ever could these be?”

Melbourne frowned, turning the specimen over and scrutinizing its shape.  “Epidendrum’s, if I’m correct.”

Victoria looked at him quizzically, her eyebrows raised.  

Melbourne gave them a testing sniff and he held it out for Victoria.  She leaned in and enjoyed its scent. 

“Orchids, ma’am.”

 “They’re _magnificent_.  So delicate.  Where are they from?”

 “Not certain, ma’am.  South America, I think, though I’ll have to check the paperwork.  But I do believe you should have the honor of the inaugural specimen.”  He handed her the orchid. 

“Lord M…” she sighed, her eyes downcast in humility and gratitude.  She took the flower from him and smelled its fragrance, again.  “Thank you, Lord M.  These really are quite beautiful.”  She admired the flower for a moment.  “I have heard that orchids are difficult to grow.  Are they?”  Their eyes met and Melbourne felt an unexpected surge of feeling in his heart and he quickly averted his eyes.

Finding himself off-balance, Melbourne fought to keep his thoughts together and he quickly looked over the rest of the plants within the case.  “Uh, yes, ma’am, although, some species are more difficult than others.  The challenge lies in their propagation.”

“Do bees not pollinate them?”

“Yes, ma’am.  But in a greenhouse, one must divide the pseudobulb in an effort to propagate the plant.”  Melbourne gently scrutinized the specimen in Victoria’s hand.  “And, indeed, these do, in fact, have them.” 

“How…precisely does one propagate an orchid?”

Melbourne retrieved his tools from where Hunter had laid them and showed her precisely how to perform the technique.  After some explanation and demonstration, Victoria wanted to try it, herself.  Melbourne found one of his own orchids, nearby, for her to practice while he guided her hand in the delicate technique.  As they stood together, Melbourne became increasingly aware of her.  Her very nearness was loosening the slippery hold he had on his already embattled emotions.          

He watched her manipulate the blade and work her skill to divide the pseudobulb for propagation.  He corrected her, guided her, made suggestions, all the while struggling to keep a lid of the roiling feelings that simply would not be contained.

Victoria was focused on dividing the last pseudobulb, carefully making the cut where Melbourne had showed her.  He watched her, pensively.  “Is that correct, Lord M?”

He blinked himself back to awareness.  “You’ve done a remarkable job, ma’am,” he reassured her. 

She turned and smiled at him, proud of herself and his heart melted that he’d brought her joy.  She turned back, eager to do more.

He wistfully sighed to himself, sat down from fatigue, and simply watched her. 

Here they were.  Together.  In this lush and lyrical setting, amid the quiet solitude, the calming green of their surroundings, the floral perfume that lingered about in the warm air.  Outside, on this crisp day, the birds sang joyously in the warm sun along a breeze that was gentle and soothing in this place where they were happy…

Fierce regret and grief surged within him.  A tear escaped and fell, unchecked, against Melbourne’s cheek.  He let out a deep sorrowful sigh, swallowed hard and wiped his face. 

Victoria turned to him upon hearing his movements and she saw fully his expression.  “My Lord M.  Are you in pain?”

Melbourne grunted a small sigh and blinked back the tears.  “Yes, ma’am.  But…nothing I cannot bear.”  _And bear it I must because the alternative is too terrible a thing to consider..._  

The thoughts that paraded in his mind were stroked by his exhaustion and pushed his emotions to the edge.  He put a hand to his face but it was too late, the unbearable would not be denied and a few more tears followed the first.  He took a ragged intake of breath to stem the tide, and he cursed himself, embarrassed and ashamed that he’d lost control in front of her.  The distance between them he’d worked so hard to maintain was wilting rapidly like orchids in transit.  If he didn’t cease now, well, maybe beheading was slated to have been his fate, afterall. 

          “My Lord M… You’re trembling.”  She put away the tools and sat next to him.

“Feverish chills, ma’am.”  Knowing, perhaps, that she knew better.  That nauseating, twisted sense of dread filled him, again.  Despite every deflection, every encouragement by him that she could stand on her own, the countless parries and ripostes between them - this was the very situation he’d worked to avoid and yet, here it lay, literally, at his feet.  No matter how pure the union, theirs was frowned upon by rules of politics and gentry and every aspect of English life.  But even beyond the rules of nobility and perhaps their own personal morals, the paramount purpose for keeping them eternally separated burned like the sun within him and _he would not yield_ his abject loyalty to it.  To give in was to ultimately surrender her to that fate which was already upon him and the prospect of that was…incomprehensible. Unbearable.

“You really are trembling, Lord M.”  She checked his forehead.  “You have no fever...”

His body was tense, his eyes were shut and his expression was of one who is masking great pain and his breathing was deep and ragged.

Victoria moved to grab his hand, but at her touch, Melbourne coolly escaped her grasp and rubbed his eyes. 

“Lord M.  Look at me,” she ordered.

“’Tis just a headache, ma’am, I assure you.  It will pass,” he replied, hoping his firm tone would dissuade further explanation from him.  It was trying, enough, to hide the raw emotions he could not seem to bury.

“Lord M.  Please.  Look at me,” she gently implored, whispering.

He stopped in mid-motion.  Resigned and feeling caught, he sighed softly and shook his head to himself.  He hesitated a moment then dropped his hand into his lap and openly turned to her. 

Her expression softened and became deeply concerned.  Her eyes roamed his face with palpable concern.  “You are crying.” 

He felt drawn and quartered and laid out for all to see; he could hide from her no longer.  “Yes, ma’am,” he breathed, his voice sounding weary, defeated. 

“Are you in pain?” she turned and quickly looked him over, searching for the cause of his discomfort.

He simply sighed deeply as he kept his eyes on her.

She seemed about to say something, then, seeing the look in his eyes, the purple violet on the table beside him, she hesitated.  Victoria backpedaled through her thoughts then continued, her voice barely audible. “Is it because of me?” 

She’d sounded so pitiable and his heart went out to her.  “The blame lies entirely with me, ma’am.”

“I cannot bear to see you like this, Lord M.  I do not wish to cause you distress.”  A tear fell across her cheek.

They locked eyes and, forgetting himself, he reached out and gently caressed her cheek, thumbing away her tears.  “Tis not possible, ma’am,” he muttered almost to himself.

Her eyes closed momentarily as she leaned in to his touch, her heart singing.  She gazed up at him as he wiped her face.  Then she reached up and gently took his hand and held it in both of hers, marveling at his strength and warmth and she bowed her head, in thought. 

He reveled in watching her – feeling her - rub his hand in hers.  He sensed her need to speak and, as he had often done, offered her his quiet patience until she was ready.

“Lord M…had things been…different…somehow…”  She set her eyes back on him and she watched him watching her.  The corners of her mouth twitched with words she feared to speak aloud.  “Would you have accepted my heart?”

He eyed her knowingly; he knew what she was really asking.  She was backing him into a corner and he knew she knew it.  Yet he could envision her life from his vantage point far better than she and it weighed on him whether to divulge the truth as God knew it or spare her the grief.  In the end, his paternal need to protect overrode any other considerations.  In this, his experience in Parliament would come in handy, having necessarily honed in him the skill of slithering out of dark holes.  It was a delicate thing, this surgical proficiency at deflection, knowing full well it would not work.  Not with her.  But he was loathe to break her heart.  Again.  He had to try, however, at the very least.  Because he could not bring himself to answer her directly so he would do what he could to guard her heart.  For he could not – _would_ not – give in. 

He slid his hand from hers and gathered her hand in both of his.  “I think it best that we not entertain possibilities of what cannot be, ma’am.”

“You are patronizing me, Lord M,” she pleaded with him with a saddened expression.  Her voice softened and she whispered, “I really wish to hear your answer.”

Wretched uneasiness pooled within him as he locked eyes with her and he resigned himself to its anxious and soul-consuming grip.  He hoped it would steel his resolve to keep to his constitution and his devotion to the only path available to them.  To _him_.  It was the only way to save her and nothing – and no one - could dissuade him from his Duty. 

Gingerly, he leaned forward in the lounging chair and caressed her hand as his mind worked out the words.  “I…have a duty, ma’am, that…I _must_ adhere to—”

“Lord M, please,” she huffed with tightly controlled exasperation.  “I do not wish to hear about duty and rules, what should or should not be and what is or what is not allowed!”

He squeezed her hand patiently, reassuringly.  “I assure you, this…goes beyond politics and…social rank and Privy Council rules and regulations by which we are bound.” 

Victoria flicked him an irritated glance, then sighed in some measure of frustration.  She took his hands in hers.  “You once told me that, like the rook, you mate for life.”

Melbourne watched her absently rubbing his hand.  “Yes.”

“And yet you speak of the Privy Council and rules and regulations.”  Victoria laid Melbourne with a severe look.  “You have always been straight with me, Lord M.  I have never known you to gloss over something for some fool errand to protect me or hide the truth.” 

Melbourne cocked his head slightly, dreading where this was going.

“Did you lie to me?”  Her voice was soft and tinged with heartache, yet firm in her conviction.

 Eyes darkened, matching the depth as the alarm in his gut.  Melbourne took a breath, searching for quiet words, intimate words that only the two of them would ever share.  He gently untangled his hands from hers and cradled her hand in his.

“When I told you that I am very much like the rook, that, I mate for life...I was entirely truthful and continue to abide by it.  That has not changed.”  He eyed her for a moment to gauge her reaction and then rubbed her hands, ruefully, his eyes cast down.  “I have reason to believe that you and I… are of the same mind…the same heart, in that regard.  I…could not risk that, for your sake.” 

He turned her hand and absently traced circles on the back of her hand with his thumb.  “It is…for every Prime Minister, a paramount duty to consider what is best for the empire and to protect the sovereign’s capacity to rule.  Any…tragic circumstance surrounding a monarch could affect that capacity and prove disastrous for the country.  _No_ Prime Minister can _risk_ that possibility, especially…if any… unfortunate tragedy…could simply have been avoided.”

“But…perhaps, you need not be my prime minister—?” her voice held an intense hope, but it quickly disappeared upon the stern, almost paternal, expression Melbourne laid upon her.

 He daresay she did have a point, however misguided though it was.  Clearly his point was being misconstrued and he cocked his head ever so slightly as he mentally regrouped.  Obviously, a more direct approach was needed albeit, it required a more delicate touch.  Melbourne sighed heavily with uncertainty.  He turned her hand back over, lightly raking his fingertips against hers as he mentally shifted gears.  “Ma’am, I…I cannot be the keeper of your heart.  Had it come to pass that I could have chosen as you would _have_ me choose…”   Melbourne made a face, as if abandoning that line of thought.  He took a breath, his eyebrows spiking, his voice, nostalgic and heavy with regret.  “I have…already lived my life, indeed, my days, no doubt, are soon to be numbered—" 

“Don’t say that, Lord M," she pleaded.

Melbourne frowned and squeezed her hand, “But, it’s _true_.  As I am now, ravaged with this malady, it might have come to pass that I would not have survived the night.  I could not bear to visit such sorrow upon you to carry on, alone.  You are _young_ and about to embark on the most exciting, _passionate_ , adventurous part of your life and, in the end, I _cannot_ and _**will not**_ impede _your_ eternal happiness, _whate’er_ the consequences to _me_.  I _will not_ take that risk.  I _cannot_ —" his voice choked on an intake of breath as he fought back a sudden thrust of tears.  _I love you too much to do anything less._

Victoria’s eyes worked as she watched his face.  Then stark understanding flashed across her face and the true depth of his words clouded her expression.  She blinked back the tears that welled in her eyes and her breath quickened.  “Dear Lord M…am I to understand…”  She fought to keep her composure.  “You have been…carrying this burden… forsaking _yourself_ …” she searched his eyes.  “For _my_ sake?” she sounded almost horrified. 

His expression was severe as he cocked his head and looked at her, seeing the grief and compassion in her eyes. 

At long last, she deftly escaped his clutches.  A tear fell on her cheek as she reached out to touch his face.  His eyes closed momentarily and he shied slightly.  At her gentle touch, he breathed in sharply against the warmth and weakness that plunged through his body, his skin tingling.  He held his breath as she softly caressed his face.  He knew he should stop her.  At once. ... When he musters the strength...

Her fingers daintily traced exploring lines from his temple to his mouth.  With long, loving strokes, she touched his face, feeling the texture of his skin, the warmth of his body. 

A low murmur buzzed throughout his body as the depths of his soul grew solemn and quiet.  He watched her; his grave and intense expression never leaving her face, his breathing measured and shallow, keeping the weight in his chest at bay.  Her hand warmed his face; her fingers combed gently through his hair. 

As her fingers delicately traced his ear, Melbourne leaned in and turned into the palm of her hand while gently capturing her with his own.  He could feel the supple leather of her glove against his cheek and he tenderly pressed her to his lips.  His Everlasting Companion ballooned instantly within him, filling his whole being, crushing his lungs that he could not breathe as suppressed desires flooded to the surface.  His ears roared with the pressure of the sheer weight suffocating him from within.  He clenched his eyes tight against the torment and the tears that surged forward and he fought the tide of anguish that had so swiftly rushed in.  He lingered… frozen… between Duty and heartache... 

…for a moment… 

…and then…resolve melted as butter and he welcomed the relief of surrender…

…Melbourne gently kissed her palm. 

He struggled to repress tears that unyieldingly drove forward.  Melbourne snuffled against her hand and kissed her, again, feeling his warm breath.  Tantalizingly, adoringly, he moved his lips across her hand toward her delicate, sumptuous, fingers, so small and fragile against his own.  Tears welled with each kiss he softly laid upon her; his breathing shallow, her perfume filling his lungs, his mind.  He breathed her in; warmth and sensation enveloping his body.  Leisurely, his lips traced up and down each finger, savoring, delicately kissing every point he landed until he reached her fingertips, then kissed here there.  His lips traced back across her hand to her soft and elegant palm and he lingered, again, his heart pounding, his masculinity gathering throughout his body—

  _No!  No… You cannot… By all that you hold dear in this world, William, stop.  Stop...  Please.  You cannot do this.  For her sake.  For her sake, you cannot.  You must not.  End this.  Now._  

Anguish rushed forward, drowning him, with unrelenting intensity and he held her to him as he braced against the onslaught of emotion, the weight in his chest unbearable.  His eyes clenched ever tighter against stinging tears and the gut-wrenching grief that would not abate.  He was frozen, interminably suspended in a misery that engulfed him utterly and grew and pressed until his lungs burned and told him to breathe.  He inhaled sharply and gripped her tightly, hot tears threatening as he grieved the physical loss of her.  He settled her hand against his shoulder, rubbing her firmly, almost roughly, fighting desperately to regain control of himself, his emotions.  He was shaking.  What had passed between them was now in his body’s memory and he knew it would wound him for the rest of his life.  Regret and shame, utter shame, suffused him for he could not undo what he’d so _unconscionably_ allowed himself to do.  He swallowed hard.  “Forgive me, ma’am,” he murmured, his voice wavering with emotion and remorse.  Melbourne blinked his eyes open and even through the watery vision could see her face full of tears and compassion and sorrow.  “I’m afraid…fatigue overwhelms me.” 

Victoria’s eyes glistened with such devotion.  She had seen the sheer distress in his eyes, his face, his whole bearing.  Understanding, now, the totality of his declaration and the losses he’d endured throughout his life, she could only imagine what this was costing him. 

She turned her hand within his and laid her hand against his chest. 

He winced, slightly, at her touch and tried to breathe through the intensity of feeling that tingled through him.

“How do you bear it?” she whispered, the sadness of the world in her voice.

Melbourne felt himself regaining control, his emotions burying themselves, again, and he searched her face, the austere mask of control in his features.  He understood her true question and although it remained unspoken, it was the question he would answer. 

“I have no choice, you see.  To do anything less…”  _To leave you to an empty life…_   “Would be unimaginably cruel and unthinkable.” 

“My dearest, dearest Lord M… Were that I could make you happy...”

Melbourne sighed and loosely retrieved her hand, then slowly brought it down to the chair and then regretfully – dutifully – released her.  “You can,” he said firmly, decisively, his voice bearing his strength, again.  “Give your heart to one who shalt be your husband.”  He threw her a small smile of reassurance.

 Victoria straightened and stood.  “I should not have come.  I cannot bear to be the source of your distress.”

With some difficulty, Melbourne got to his feet, hands clasped before him, “I assure you, ma’am, you are not.  The fault lies entirely with me.”  Out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed the orchid that she’d set aside.  He reached over and took it up and returned it to her.  “Compliments of Brocket Hall.” 

She glanced at him momentarily, then, almost hesitantly, took it from him, smelled it for a moment, and shyly looked up at him.  “Thank you, Lord M.  It’s beautiful.  As always.”  After a moment, she shrugged herself back into a queenly countenance, but while her bearing bore the yoke of sovereignty, her expression was far more intimate.  “I do not wish to keep you from your rest, Lord M.  I shall disturb you no further.”

Melbourne threw her a small, reassuring smile.  “Brocket Hall is always honored by your presence, ma’am.”

 Victoria straightened herself to her full height.  She fought to keep her composure, her emotions playing across her features.  Barely succeeding, she turned and left.

Melbourne watched her leave, his eyes on her retreating back.  It was a shock to him, as he replayed her visit in his mind, that he’d been harboring feelings for her; cultivating, nursing them.  When she’d proposed, he knew he’d needed to prune and even nip them, toss them away like wilted leaves dying beneath the flower.  But he could not bring himself to do so.  The walls he’d placed around his emotions had, in fact, not shielded him from them, but had become a Wardian case where they flourished and thrived.

William turned his gaze.  The Wardian case had been left open, a purple orchid gently hanging from the open door as if aware it was now free.  Melbourne carefully picked up the delicate specimen and pondered it for some moments, a small sigh of regret escaping him.  The distant sound of a horse whinny followed by the rhythmic, disciplined cadence of the Queen’s horses caught his ears and William looked up, catching the Queen’s carriage and envoy making their leave of Brocket Hall in the chill of autumn.  He daintily stroked the flower against his cheek, its gentle petals feeling not unlike the supple softness of Victoria’s glove.  Eyes closed, he breathed in the scent, then looked wistfully again at the retreating carriage.  Heaving a heavy sigh, William turned his full attention to examining the fresh new arrivals, battered from the journey, yet, somehow, yearning to survive and flourish.

 

  _fin_

 

 


End file.
